The Circle Unbroken
by Hirilnara
Summary: A small set of ficlets focusing on the main characters of the Winding Cirle series. My first fic that isn't a parody! And it's not LotR either! - On hold
1. Sandry

> Disclaimer; I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. They are the creation of the great Tamora Pierce, and I am only borrowing them. This is just an idea that got stuck in my head and refused to leave . . . I hope it's not too abysmal.  
  
Sandry  
  
Sandrilene fa Toren wove. The clack-click of the loom sunk into her skin, kept time with her heart beat, as her deft fingers fed the shuttle between the wefts. Surrounded by a dome of her power, she focused her mind on the material that was growing under her fingers. She pressed into it the importance of being clean, of being crease free. Then, a small smile playing around her mouth, she added to the pattern the need for silence. Although Briar's days as a thief were over, Sandry thought he would appreciate the sentiment. As graceful as a cat, stealth was a part of him, as deeply set as his magic, and he always seemed to find situations where his old skills were required.  
  
She came to the end of the thread, and locked it into place. She looked at the sheet of plain white cotton and smiled, imagining Briar wearing it as a shirt, maybe working in the gardens. Perhaps travelling in it; Rosethorn had mentioned they might go to study gardens of other cultures, try to help farmers in places less bountiful. She sat back from the loom, stretching her arms. Later she would cut and sew the material, but for now she needed a change of task. She looked around, and saw Tris's skirt. It was cut and sewn, but it still needed something . . . Sandry remembered a few days ago, when she had seen Tris admiring a blouse in the market. It had been embroidered with roses along the sleeves and collar. "It's nice, but it's so fussy! Where could you wear it?" Tris had asked.  
  
'It's been a while since I've done any embroidery' thought Sandry and she pulled her power into herself, winding it tight like a ball of wool. When she had gathered it all in, she got up, brushing off her skirt. The dust fell off immediately, but she had a coat of white fuzz down one side. She sighed, and used a pinch of her power to call the wool into her hand. It obeyed almost at once, forming a neat strip in her palm. "I'll need to do the charm again" she murmured to herself, putting the wool on a table. She picked up a spool of thread, dyed rust brown, and an embroidery needle. She looked at the skirt for a while, trying to decide what pattern. A vine started to grow in her minds eye, leaves sprouting along it; a remnant of Briar that had remained from her weaving. She smiled and picked up the skirt. Not too fussy, but it would add a touch of pretty to the skirt. Tris would like that.


	2. Tris

> > > Disclaimer; I do not own any of the characters or places mentioned in this story. They are the creation of the great Tamora Pierce, and I am only borrowing them.  
  
Tris  
  
Trisana Chandler stood overlooking the sea, outside the walls of the temple. Evening was creeping in, slowly stealing sunlight from an already overcast sky. Breezes and winds swirled around her, teasing at her hair – 'But I had it cut short recently, didn't I?' she thought – tugging at her clothes like impatient children. They sang to her, called their wing sister to come and play with them. She closed her eyes and her breathing instantly took up the slow familiar rhythm. Her magical self leapt free, spiralling into the air. She raced the breezes towards the clouds in the sky, becoming one with them. She danced along the air currants, a feeling of laughter bubbling up inside her although she had no body to contain it or any voice to set it free. She dove from the clouds towards the ocean, pulling out of her dive to skim along the waves, faster and faster, almost feeling the spray licking at her body. She looked down . . .  
  
. . . And to her horror saw them. The ocean, that had looked choppy and opaque from her real body's vantage point, was now as smooth and clear as glass. She could see down into the depths, to the wooden skeletal frame of a boat buried in the sandy bottom. And between her and it, she could see the pirate slaves. Her eyes teared over, and she swiped them away. She hardly noticed that she had stopped moving, hovering just above the oceans surface; she was transfixed by the tableaux of horror that had been wreaked here a few weeks ago. There was a young woman, the left side of her face and body charred, probably in one of the explosions, her eyes closed, mercifully dead before the water claimed her. Below her in the water, but just as clear, a man with a chain still attached to his leg. His staring eyes wide still with panic, his bloated fingers still seemed to scrabble at his bonds. And below him, hundreds upon hundreds of men and women, all dead. Tris could feel tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry" she whispered, looking at the face of the woman closest to her.  
  
The woman's eyes sprang open. She fixed Tris with a look of pure loathing. Below her more water spoiled corpses twisted to face up to Tris, all glaring at her. Water bloated arms started to stretch up towards the surface; towards her. Tris felt panic building in her throat. She tried to urge the breezes that held her to rise out of the reach of the slaves, but she didn't move. Desperately she stretched her mind out to find a higher breeze to save her, but there was none. Then suddenly, the breezes that had been surrounding her vanished, and she felt herself plunging into the water, into the clutches of those swollen white arms, towards those hate filled eyes . . .  
  
Tris sat up in her bed, gasping. She looked wide eyed around her room, but she was safe, alone. The open shutter of her window caught her eye, as did the pitcher of water it had obviously knocked over, drenching her night clothes. She laughed shakily and, righting the now empty pitcher, got out of bed to stand by her window. Snippets of distant conversations swirled around her head, twirling to get her attention.  
  
"Hush my little one; the storm won't pass this way",  
  
"The end of my shift already? Goddess bless, that went fast",  
  
"Another lot of pirates have been caught . . . at this rate there will be no more on the Pebbled sea!"  
  
Tris dragged her fingers through her hair, short as she had remembered and tightly curled. She sighed regretfully and closed her shutter tying the fastening. She normally liked to sleep with them open, but tonight the breezes would bring no rest to her. She glanced towards her bedroom door, and clenched her fists tight. She would not bother Rosethorn and Lark! This was her own private nightmare, brought on by her lack of control, and she would deal with it alone for as long as it took. As she climbed into her bed and her eyes drifted closed again, her last waking thought brought her no joy; that she would be dealing with seeing those faces, those hate filled eyes, for a long, long time.
>>> 
>>> (A/N) To TheAngryPrincess13, rubic-cube and Fireblade K'Chona; thank you kindly for the comments! This will continue for as long as I stay inspired, which hopefully will be a long time yet!


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